He was junkie thin. An expression rarely used. Junkie thin. An expression used in a book that I loved. Junkie thin in a way that showed his bones. Bones I thought would break under the pressure of surrounding people. He was thinner than any male I had ever seen. Sometimes it disguised me. Sometimes I was jealous because never would be that thin. Maybe it was wearing me away. Trying to be thin and perfect. If I was thin and perfect and pure then maybe I would be worthy of him. No, even then I wouldn't be good enough. I'd have to like a ray of light or a glass. Empty but shining. If I didn't have any blood in my body, would then I be good enough to meet his standards? He had big bulky shoulders that looked as if very easily he could've lifted my thin body into the comfort of himself. Like he could have held me against him. Then I would be able to rest my head against his chest and feel his beating heart while he felt my own beating fast. When I leaned on him the strong scent of the cologne he wore would make me feel better. It would make me stronger to face the challenges that I knew I would have to face. Would it make my feel better knowing that someone cared? Knowing that I wasn't alone to face the menacing obstacles that lay in front of me? More then anything I wanted his hands that were big, his fingers, long and thin to touch my pale skin. When they touched my bare skin I felt every nerve in my body being affected. I felt was if I would burst with confusion, with anger. Never would we be together. Never would his indescribable hands hold my own. Some times his eyes twinkled giving me secret smiles. They were gray, some places appearing darker, ink blots. Eyes of secret, mystery, false hope, love and hatred at the same time. Eyes of a writer. One I was the receiver of one of the secret smiles, I felt happier than ever. It was those eyes that sometimes would have make-up applied to making him look prettier than I was. And causing us to laugh and fall even deeper. One night when it was cold, my feet were hitting against the tips of shoes; he told me that if he could he would give me one of his frozen tears to suck on. He said that it would warm me. Take away my insecurities; my fears. I whispered to him that I would give him my frozen blood in the shape of a heart. He said into my hair that nothing would make him happier. We really let our blood stream together one night. With his knife we slit our wrists in a way that would do no harm us and we pushed our wrists together. We just stood there letting them mix into one. We became one that night. No longer was it just me and him, it was Us.